


Capricious

by Duckgomery



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Depression, Gen, Medication, Mental Illness, Tavros can't knit, art student Gamzee, paint her like one of your french girls, petty vandalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckgomery/pseuds/Duckgomery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee Makara wanted a fresh start, though more for the sake of his friends than himself. To bad they can't seem to stay away from his room-mate, a Mister Dave Strider. How long can Gamzee remain being known as 'The Mysterious Hermit? and who will be the first to find him out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to the Machine

**Author's Note:**

> Trying a bit of a new writing style here so bare with me.  
> All the chapter names for this fic will be courtesy of Pink Floyd because why not.

The once-constant hiss brought out by steady, well-practiced ministrations, descended into a splutter. Gamzee gave the can a violent shake, contradictory to his previous movements. Only as the sound descended into an increasingly sickly rattle did he call it quits, placing the spent can in his patched-beyond-recognition excuse of a bag. After rustling through it for another can of the desired shade, he was rewarded. Pulling it out, he stretched upwards, moving his arm in a precise arc, smoothly blocking in the colour for his piece.

 He stepped back several paces to take in the evening’s work, smile stretching at the cacophony of colours fighting for dominance before him. A section to his left caught his eyes and he huffed, some of the outlines failing to pop out to the effect of its brethren. He bends down to pull out the can of black paint, fixing in indiscretion. Sometimes it was a pain being as meticulous, but if Gamzee Makara knew one thing, it was that the smallest of details make all the difference.

After a second appraisal, he deemed the work satisfactory. He pulled out the final can, this time a sealer.  Gamzee sprayed it generously across the brick surface, giving the image resting on top a chance to be immortalised.

Never one to leave a project when it was vulnerable, he lit up a cigarette, as he waited for it to dry. From his seat on the curb he surveyed the empty street. The upcoming weekend would see this street being the hub, being as close to the campus as it was. At this stage though, classes were in the process of starting up for the semester, to early to be cracking open the bottle at this stage.

Flicking his second stub, smoked down to the filter, he pulled himself upright. A final glance at the mural and he picked up his work bag.  He walked down the hollow street, rattling all the while.

Toothy grins and candy corn horns watched his retreating form from their place on the wall.

 

He jostled the keys in the lock. Despite the building having been recently renovated, the locks were that of the original, and as such had the nasty habit of making you earn the right for the door to open. He scolded the barrier under his breath, along the lines of forcing the lock’s family watch in terror as their dad and husband was forced to partake in self-cannibalism. Gamzee liked to believe that the lock had learnt an important lesson that it would do best not to forget as the door swung open.

Despite the ridiculous hour, his housemate was still awake, playing some videogame or another on the decent sized television precariously perched atop a pile of artfully arranged cinderblocks. A lot of the furniture that his roommate hauled up earlier seemed to have been assembled in this way. He would attribute the oddity that this was to up-bringing but he didn’t wished to be hypocritical, even internally. It just wasn’t a thing to be doing.

“Pizza in the fridge, took a guess at supreme,” he calls over, Texas drawl heavy through the silence of the morning. He didn’t look away from the screen.

He takes a moment to toss his bag of tricks in the dark maw that is his room. It rattles and clangs as it descends contents spilling over the floor, but Gamzee could care less. There was free food to be had and with his tools of the trade accounted for he was free to partake in the spoils of co-habitation. Despite the once living, breathing, animals littering the top of his soon to be surgically altered meal, this may be the start to a beautiful friendship, or something along those lines at the very least. A beautiful roommate-ship? Dorm-ship? Whatever the name, it may be the start to something good, positive. God knows he needs to find more of those types of things to hold on to, dwell over. Nothing good ever comes from him caught up with thoughts on the alternative.

Gamzee pulls the box out of the fridge. Taking a moment to survey the rest of it’s contents, he makes note to grab some proper ingredients after class tomorrow. Actually, more like this afternoon.

He taps the fridge door closed with his hip, placing the cool cardboard box onto the counter. Gamzee goes over each slice, taking effort to peel of all the meat he can spot in the minimal lighting. He places the plate in the microwave, staring at the numbers and buttons for a moment before opting for sensor reheat. It was too early to be fussy about the food.

“Do you want the motherfucking meat? Can’t eat that shit, bro,” Gamzee asks as passively as he could. He respected that everyone had different beliefs and opinions on all matters, from his preferred medium of art to the food they ate, even the way they folded their clothes or organised their books. People were entitled to whatever they wanted, and Gamzee did his best to not push his choices on others.

“You a veggie? Fuck man, sorry.” The tone said otherwise “Should’ve thought of that, my bad.” At least he acknowledged it “Just bring it down here and I’ll be more than happy to take those animal carcasses out of your iron depleted hands.”

Gamzee allows himself to chuckle, plate in one hand and the box of meat topping in the other. He seats himself on the far end of the couch, placing the box down between them as a barrier of sorts.

Both boys sat in the light of the flickering screen, one skilfully manoeuvring his avatar around the game environment while the other ate, watching in a silent daze.

“I’m guessing you must have a real tree hugger name if the dietary requirements and your attire are anything to go by?” Gamzee didn’t believe there was anything wrong with wearing flip-flops, and he didn’t feel the need to dress to the nines when out on a paint job.

“Yeah, Gamzee, Gamzee Makara, parents were on some wicked shit back in the times to crown me with a name of such.” He takes another bite of the soggy pizza, cringing slightly at the lingering taste of meat, but a free meal was a free meal and he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Fucking hell, was I right on with that. I’m Dave Strider, coolest kid you’re ever gonna meet, bask in my glory, looking is free but touching’s gonna cost you your first born,” Dave tapers off, the verbal silence punctuated with a button mashing combo, ending with a stream of profanities.

Gamzee may have been bad at reading social cues but even he could tell that there wasn’t anything else to be added, shared, or done now. With a brief farewell, more a formality drilled into him by his childhood friend, Karkat, than something a parent should’ve imparted, Gamzee balances the now bare box on top of his plate. He places them on the counter, making a silent promise to deal with them proper once he’s had a few hours of sleep.

He weaves his way through the few overflowing boxes littering his floor. Clothes and various bits and pieces ooze out of their confines and Gamzee makes another note to deal with them in the morning. Unfortunately, he has one thing that must be dealt with now and not later.

He pulls open the draw of the dresser, the one thing he set up properly before departing for the evening. Reaching into the far back, past lighters, pots of face paint, a bag of green, he found the small bottle that weighed him down. It was his burden, his shackle, and he hated how much he needed them.

With a grimace, he swallowed two of the tablets dry, something had taken him years to accomplish. As much as he wanted to take the bottle that taunted him throughout the past few years and throw it out of the window, never to be seen again, he knew he couldn’t. He had given his word to his two bros, and though they didn’t know exactly where he was or what he was doing, a promise was a promise and had to be upheld.

He shoved the bottle back to the far recesses of the draw, out of sight, out of mind. Gamzee lay back on the bare mattress, still dressed. His eyes traced the pattern in the ceilings paintwork, slowly familiarising himself with the brush strokes, the slight movement, the flow and the slight cracks beginning to show through the many layers added over the years.

He struggles to pull his phone out of his back pocket as his limbs become more and more lead like, but he manages, setting an alarm for a few hours later.

He stares at the ceiling until the sun shines through the unscreened window, eyes finally falling.

The alarm goes off shortly after. A chorus of some Disney-esque song that Tavros had managed to sneak on and set ages back but Gamzee had never had the heart to change. Little things like this were all he had to remember his two friends, and he’d take all he could get. This was their fresh start as well as his, just because he was the one to make the clean break didn’t mean he still couldn’t be sentimental over the stupid, insignificant things that brought those two to mind.

Just because he was swapping his paint splattered work shirt for one that Karkat had gotten him a few months back didn’t mean that he missed him. Same for the clumsily hand knitted beanie that Tavros had made as a joke, a sloppily sewn horrendous mismatch of colours that used to make him smile with pride and glow with happiness whenever he saw you wearing it. These just happened to be the first things that Gamzee pulled out of his boxes.

He departed from his room with his satchel. It was in much better condition than the other bag (but then that was saying something). He’d deal with the upended boxes and the hurricane disaster of his room when he got back.

He paused in the doorway, recalling all his little mental notes from a few hours previously.

Stock up fridge. He’d do that after class.

Clean up dinner. He walks over to the counter, rinsing the plate of quickly and stuffing the box in the delegated garbage bag.

 OK. What next? That’s right! Unpack room. Another task for later.

Was there anything else? He didn’t think so.

With that thought in mind, he closes the fridge door. It acted as a visual reminder to state the importance of his food run for that afternoon. The sound was enough to jolt Dave awake from his slumber, sprawled across the couch. Dave’s cursed half-heartedly as the controller clattered to the floor, but he quickly rolled over to resume sleep.

The bottle of chalk white pills sat in the draw. Gamzee repeated his mantra, out of sight, out of mind. He didn’t need them weighing down everything, not again. It was supposed to be fresh, just him being himself. The pills didn’t play any part in it. They didn’t control him. Not anymore.

 


	2. The Great Gig In The Sky

With some skilful juggling that surprised even the performer of the action, Gamzee managed to enter the dorm room, arms laden with the fruits of his wallet. Walking over to the already accumulating clutter of the kitchen table, he relieved himself of his burden, taking a step back to survey the bags of food and to formulate a new plan of action. After a moment of pondering, he unpacked the various groceries, a spread of various foods and ingredients that he hoped Dave wouldn’t be too picky about, even going as far to buy a decent amount of bacon as a peace offering. Gamzee wanted to do his best to remain on good terms with his roomie, no point in being enemies through the duration of the year.

Gamzee sat at the table, a fresh cup of coffee cradled in his hands. He indulged himself in the calm resting on the living space. He was snapped out of his inner musings by the door being shoved open. The volume of the bang produced by the action more than enough to guarantee a reasonably sized dent on the wall.

“Yo,” Dave called out as he kicked the door shut behind him, making a beeline for the kitchen. He hungrily dived into the fridge, a look of something akin to joy subtly crossing his face as he took in the treasure trove that the fridge now held.

“Dude, if I got down on one knee and popped the question, would you say yes? This is important, because only my future wife would bring me a bacon child.” He pulled out the slab of packaged meat and cradled it to his chest.

“Who are you to assume that I’d be the wife?” Gamzee smiled, propping his head up single handedly, eyes tracking Dave as he went about the kitchen, pulling out a frying pan and setting it up.

“Have you seen me? No way would I be wearing a white flowing gown as I walked down the aisle. Would sooner fly off to planet Jupiter than deprive the good people of a Strider in a tux. Plus you totally have the hips.” He laughed in a way that was pleasing but highly restrained.

“You’ve got that straight, these motherfucking hips don’t lie” Gamzee revelled in the fact that Dave had to stifle his laughter.

Popping and sizzling filled the comfortable silence that descended onto the room, both parties more than happy to let it hang.

Dave sauntered over to the table, plate of bacon in one hand, packet of Oreos in the other. Gamzee watched in both fascination and horror as Dave proceeded to wrap each of the biscuits in bacon before eating. An eye-brow, surprisingly well-shaped for a dude, was raised at the look of disgust on Gamzee’s face.

“Don’t be dissing ‘til you’ve tried it.” He reached into the packet for another one. Gamzee shook his head.

“I’ve tried some weird combinations in my time, trust me, but that-” he gestured to the greasy pile of meat, glistening, “-just looks revolting. I respect your choice in eating, but can I please ask you to not subject the poor Oreos to such a fate.”

Dave smirked, picking up one of the strips of meat and munching on it steadily.

“Since you asked so nicely I’ll refrain from future endeavours in culinary exploration without your direct approval.” He passed over the Oreos, extending an olive branch. Gamzee accepted with little to no hesitation, splitting it before dunking the non-filling covered side into his still warm coffee.

“Do you know you are the only one to ever argue against bacon Oreos? People usually pass it off as me being ironic on some level or another, and Bro, he just let me do it. To be honest, it is gross as, I’ve just been waiting for someone to call me out on it. Congrats to you.” He went back to his bacon after holding up a fist. Gamzee responded with the silent request of a bump.

“You are a motherfucking strange guy,” Gamzee laughed.

The previous comfortable silence settled once more.

 

“My buddy, John, wanted to come over for dinner and a movie or three. That cool with you?” Dave called out as he entered the room.

“Nah, that is chill as bro, can’t wait to meet the little man you are always conversing with,” Gamzee calls back, halting his previous course of channel flicking in order to address Dave.

“Dude, are you high as a kite or what?” He plops down next to Gamzee, snatching the remote from his grasp.

“What can I say, it’s been a busy week and I needed to up and get my self-medication on,” Gamzee rambled, lazy grin stretching over his gaunt face.

“It’s the first week,” Dave deadpans.

“Doesn’t mean it hasn’t been an emotionally taxing time for me, cut a brother some slack,” Gamzee laughs, relaxing into the plus surface of the couch.

“Oh, speaking of brothers, mine is up and popping in before we go and hit a concert. This place is yours and yours alone for the evening.”

“Way to give me some notice. Should I be worried that there are two of you walking around or not?” Dave settles on the Disney channel, purely for the irony of course.

“Nah, he’s a chill motherfucker, big baby.” Gamzee takes a moment to sniff him-self. “I should probably clean myself up, I don’t think I’m to pleasing to the nose currently.”

“You’re telling me,” Dave laughs, doing his best to not think of himself as a hypocrite. He hadn’t been wearing the same pair of jeans for over a week, and in terms of his shirt, it was nothing a little deodorant couldn’t mask. He was one to only concede defeat when meals started turning up on his clothing. What could he say, he hated laundry.

With a chuckle, Gamzee managed to extract himself from the couch and made his way to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Gamzee traced the sharp bones of his face as he stared into the mirror. His hair was damp, even after he roughly attacked it with the towel now wrapped around his waist. With a final look at his reflection, eyes tracing the scars, three jagged lines, trailing across his face, did he leave the steamy confines of the room. Walking into the hallway, he noticed the somewhat tense atmosphere. Looking down the hallway leading to the main area, Gamzee spotted the cause.

“Dave, that’s my bro, Kurloz. Kurloz, Dave.” He signed as he spoke, and Dave seemed to light up in understanding.

With a nod, Kurloz walked past Dave, handing patting his shoulder before he followed Gamzee to his room.

‘How are you going’ Kurloz moved his hands, his eyes roamed the chaotic mess of the room before he waded over to the bed, lounging back on it.

‘I’m doing fine. I can’t complain really. What about you?’ Gamzee went about assembling an outfit from his floor-drobe, taking a moment to sign the question, before returning to his task at hand.

Kurloz waited until his brother was more or less dressed.

‘Pretty good, the new job is working out fine.’ He shook his head as Gamzee held up one top, repeating this several times before finally deciding on one. Gamzee pulled the approved shirt on, recognising it as one he’d borrowed from Tavros and had never gotten around to returning. It hung loose on him but he didn’t care.

‘That’s good to hear. Speaking of which, how’s your girl?’ Gamzee sat down on the bed next to Kurloz. He reached over to the bedside table, pulling out his face-paints. Kurloz took the hint, tying his hair back with a hair tie he had strategically placed on his wrist.

‘Low blow, but she’s doing great. The long distance is a bit rough but we’ll pull through.’ Kurloz kept still as Gamzee applied the white base coat.

“Damn straight you will. If anyone’s going to make it, it will be you two. I’m guessing she’s digging the exchange then?” Hands steady as they dabbed at the hairline, before leaning back to survey his work.

‘She keeps sending me pictures from her phone. She looks like she’s enjoying it. She hasn’t gotten around to buying a webcam yet so I’ll have to wait a little longer before a full detail report can be made.’ Kurloz took the opportunity to respond

Gamzee picked out a dark shade of grey, dabbing a makeup wedge into it before applying it in practised sweep, following the prominent cheek bones and filling the space in between that and his jaw. Gamzee hummed as he worked, applying the same colour across his eyes before whipping out an eyeliner pencil, thickly applying it around the elder Makara’s eyes.

‘Time to return the favour bro, then we can get our groove on,’ Gamzee smiled as his brother rolled his eyes. He pulled out his hair tie and passed it over. Gamzee took the hint.

 

As the two Makara brothers walked out into the living area, Dave jerked from his perch on the couch.

“You could have warned me that you were juggalo? Fuck man.” He straightened his trademark aviators, knocked askew in his shock. Kurloz cracked a smile at this.

‘If I had known that you were a jumper I would’ve taken more effort to slink out.’ Gamzee relayed this for Dave.

“Don’t you fucking dare, now go on, off to your Faygo bar with the both of you. My bro-date will be arriving any minute and he’s weird about clowns and anything remotely harlequin-like.” Dave said, making shooing motions all the while.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be going, have traffic to beat after all.” Gamzee called from the doorway, Kurloz waving to Dave before he followed him out.

 

“Dude, your brother is anything but a big baby, nearly pissed myself when he walked into the place,” Dave called out as Gamzee staggered through the door.

“Just wait ‘til you get to know him. He’s a librarian, still goes out with his childhood sweetheart and visits his mentally handicapped friend every weekend at the least.” He paused in the kitchen briefly. “Do you want a beer while I’m up and motherfucking here?”

“Heads up, you never have to ask. I’m always game for a cold one.” He moves his feet around, propping them on the coffee table, making room for Gamzee to sit down beside him. Gamzee hands over the can, completing the transaction.

“How did your bro-date go then?” Gamzee enquired, popping his can open. Dave followed suit.

“If it wasn’t for his constant insistence that he wasn’t a homosexual, I’d think he had the biggest crush on Matthew McConaughey, it’s not funny. What about you? Scare any children?” He took a deep swig from the can.

“It was a pretty good night, haven’t hung with my bro for a good long while now. It’s good to be so close to him now, can bond ‘n’ shit. We saw some pretty amateur rappers at the local, and bar hopped for a few hours afterwards. No children were spotted in this time, but Kurloz managed to make a kid who was clearly under-aged spill his drinks. Man can he move like a shadow when he puts his mind to it.”

The droning of the television filled the room momentarily, both occupants utilising the lull in conversation as an opportunity to knock back their drinks.

“So your brother, Karlos,” Dave starts.

“Kurloz,” Gamzee corrects.

“Kurloz, he’s mute, right?”

“Yeah.” Despite the shortness of the responses, Gamzee was anything but hostile.

“A little heads up next time you introduce me to someone requiring different means of communication, I had no idea of who he was or what the fuck he wanted. I was starting to fear for my virgin ass before you stepped out.” Hands waving around as he spoke.

Gamzee gulped down the rest of his can before hauling himself up.

“I’ll keep it in mind. Gonna turn in for the night.” Dave offers a wave in response, turning his attention back to the screen illuminating the room, resuming his game once more.

 

Gamzee took care to assure that the majority of his paint was wiped off before burying his head into his pillow. His plans of slumber were quickly interrupted by the realisation that he’d almost forgotten something. With a frown and a muttered curse, he reached into the draw, rummaging far into its depths. He pulled out the container, rattling in his careless grip. Popping the lid open, he extracted two of the pills, washing them down with the remainder of the beer he had brought in with him. He slammed the container down onto the bedside table before rolling over, blankets bunched around his form.

His sleep was haunted by laughter and gentle, smiling faces.


	3. The Happiest Days Of Our Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes a 'bit' of a 180 halfway through, but please bare with me here. Also, Rose.

The feeling that Gamzee gets when he wakes tells him that today is going to be one of those days. The kind of days that requires him to take his bone white pills when he feels he is teetering on the brink. He hates it when he wakes up like this, with the writhing in his gut, the small, bitter voice that coos no matter how hard he tries. It is all futile. Taunts him with whispers of how much of a failure he is, was, and always will be. It is adamant that he deserves none of the few kindnesses he has received, and he is swayed to believe it.

He silences his phone. The alarm that Tavros set what seemed like years ago (but was only mere months) was repeating for the third time, or was it the fourth?

With a feeling of foreboding and self-hatred, Gamzee rolls out of bed and puts his day in motion.

 

“Dude, you alright?” Dave calls from the kitchen as Gamzee shuffles through the door.

It had not been a good day.

Gamzee remains silent, choosing to drop his satchel on the ground with little thought of its contents. Not like the sketches, or the water colours contained within were any good. The contents of the bag spilled across the floor, it had been a long, valiant battle, but fabric can only take so much, seams splitting beyond repair.

He pulls his knees up to his chest as he sinks to the floor, surrounded by the sea of crinkling images. Dave stops what he was doing, making his way over.

“Shit man, what’s up?” He places a hand on Gamzee’s trembling shoulder. He’s rewarded with a shaking head, loose curls no longer bouncing with their usual enthusiasm. Dave lets out a sigh, the sound of rustling pages not even close to drowning out the now shouting voice within Gamzee’s head.

It’s only when the smoke alarm goes off that Gamzee raises his head. Dave’s less than muffled curses are seriously competing with the blaring beep, beep, beep, as he cracks a window open. He waves his arms about, doing his best to disperse the smoke lingering. Any other time this would have been considered comical, laughter would have definitely occurred, but now? Staring blankly at the normally composed Dave, Gamzee can barely muster the energy to twitch his lips upwards, instead opting to resting his head on his knees once more.

 

The gentle nudging on his shoulder is what brings Gamzee to. The first thing he notices as he wakes is that he’s lying down, a fuzzy, croqueted blanket wrapped around him. The blanket was a gift from Tavros, another one of his many attempts at arts and crafts. He remembers Karkat telling him that if this was the best he could do, to not give up his day job. It still smells like a warm home, full of spices and kind words. He misses him. He misses the both of them so very, very much. With a final inhale Gamzee cracks his eyes open, flinching at the bright light from overhead.

Gamzee lets out a whimper, the hand shaking his shoulder quickly runs up to his hair, carding long, spindly fingers through it. He tries again with more success. Kurloz’s eyes meet his, looking sad, and tired, and worried. Kurloz’s shoulders slump, letting the previous weight roll off them when he sees Gamzee’s open eyes. With the ghost of a smile, he continues running one hand through the younger Makara’s hair with one hand, the other waves over at the room’s other occupant.

Gamzee recognises the room, realising that he’d been moved to the couch. Not quite remembering what led to him getting to this, he allowed himself to relax to the best of his ability, letting the blanket’s scent wrap around his senses.

He is roused from his doze by the shaking of his shoulder once more, the hand having since been removed from his hair. A glass of water is held in-front of him. Gamzee pulls himself some-what upright, before taking it shaking-hands. He sipped at it for what felt hours, the cool liquid soothing his throat. He hadn’t even realised he was so thirsty. As his sips turned to gulps, the glass was gently coaxed from his grasp, only to be replaced with two white tablets. Gamzee looks down at them, then up to his brother. Silent pleas are read by both. Kurloz closes his hands over Gamzee’s, squeezing softly, an attempt at comfort. It made Gamzee feel fragile, like he could shatter at any moment. He took a shaky grip before tossing the two, sickly coloured pills back. Kurloz passed back the glass, letting him wash them down with the rest of its contents.

He took the now empty glass from Gamzee’s grasp, placing it on the coffee table with a soft clink. Only then does the silence hanging over the room, suddenly more heavy than the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, make itself known. Even the flickering of the television, a constant in the past few weeks, had subsided. The room is filled with dark shadows and seems almost cold. He must have been shivering because it is only moments before Kurloz is beside him, pulling him to rest back on his chest, arms locking him into place. Gamzee wonders when it had gotten so late. Where had Dave gone? Why Kurloz was here?

More questions fizzled in his muddled head, a swirl of colours and sounds, pulsating to the time of the beating heart beneath his ear. Hands trace gentle designs into his back, easing the tension away. Gamzee almost recognises the words and letters using his back as a canvas but they slip beyond his grasp the more he tries to focus.

His eyes drift shut as he is coaxed by soothing words, warm arms, and the smell of nutmeg.

 

Next time Gamzee managed to pull himself into consciousness he was feeling exponentially better. This wasn’t saying much considering the rock bottom he had swung out of bed into the previous day, but it was a better mood none the less. This elevation in his general mental well-being was the first thing he noticed.

The rasping sound of paper slowly being drawn across paper alerted him that he wasn’t alone in his little bubble of momentary calm. His breathing hitched slightly, and that was enough to alert the room’s other occupant that he was awake.

“How are you feeling?” A female’s voice queried. Hearing the rich tones, Gamzee’s shoulders hunched.  He didn’t recognise this voice.

Cracking open his eyes, apprehensive to the correctly predicted influx of sunlight. He was met with the sight of one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

She seemed otherworldly, glowing from the light silhouetting her, whilst shadows danced around her features, emphasising sharp bones and soft angles. He slowly pulled himself up, eyes fixated on her form. He watched as her hands slowly shut the cover of the old book, curling around the worn, paper back. He drank in the picture of this woman sitting before him, ideas and concepts already swarming through his head. These voices he didn’t mind.

His face must have revealed some part of his inner thoughts because instead of repeating her question, she retaliated with a raised arch of an eyebrow whilst quirking her darkly stained lips upwards into a smirk. An eerily familiar smirk.

“Rather than dilly dally around the point, I’d like to formally introduce myself.” Her voice playful “I am Rose, and it was about time I met the boy that my dearest brother was rooming with. You’re Gamzee Makara, correct?” Rose moves the book from her lap to the coffee table. Her eyes, an impossibly mixed blue, never leaving Gamzee’s own.

All Gamzee does is nod dumbly. This doesn’t seem to deter Rose in the slightest, her smirk growing, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“I trust that you are feeling much better?” She leans back, one leg crossed on top of the other. She’s wearing socks with paw-prints patterned across them.

“It’s an improvement sis.” He pulls the woven blanket tighter around him, legs folded beneath him on the couch. “Where’s Kurloz?”

“Kurloz? He’s your brother, isn’t he?” She waits for an affirmative response before continuing on.  “He had to leave for work and Dave for class. Neither of them wanted to leave you by yourself so Dave gave me a call. Luckily I had no classes for the day.” She reclines back on the chair. It creaks slightly but she isn’t perturbed.

“That’s a miracle if I ever heard of one.” He smiles over at her, all previous tension released. She seems to take that as a cue, her own shoulders slumping into a more relaxed position. Now he could see the resemblance.

“You should probably let them know how you are, Dave’s probably freaking out by the lack of communication. Knowing him, he’s already in the process of assembling a team of happy-go-lucky-scamps to thwart my plans of sacrificing you to the dark lords.”

“You’ll have to beat my brother to that, I promised him the right to sacrifice me to his messiahs when I was ten for a bag of skittles,” he laughed.

She broke down into a fit of snorts and giggles, nose crinkling as she struggled to her best to contain her laughter.

“Can I ask you a favour, Rose?” Gamzee asked once the silence had grown comfortable. He was still sitting on the couch, though the blanket was carefully folded and placed to the side.

“Within certain limitations, yes, yes you can,” she purred, her eyes fixated on the pages of the retrieved book. The yellow pages crackling beneath her careful touch as pages flickered by.

“Well, I was wondering …“

 

“What the fuck am I seeing here? Like I know what I am seeing, but what is happening?” Dave calls as he walks into the room, stock still now, standing before the couch, having registered the scene before him.

Rose smirks, looking back over a now bare shoulder.

“What you see is what is happening, brother. Nothing more. Nothing less.” She seems to be revelling in the discomfort oozing from Dave.

“Gamzee, as much as it pleases me to see you up and about, as opposed to being a blanket monster like you were yesterday, why bro, why?” Dave’s voice is becoming more and more tinged with the hint of laughter, the reality of the scenario beginning to sink in.

“It’s what it looks like bro.” Gamzee’s eyes flicker up to the bare back of a Miss Rose Lalonde, before returning down to the page before him. Hands moving in well-practiced motions, the charcoal sketch becoming more and more developed with each sub-sequential stoke. Fingers occasionally caressing the lines of the image, softening edges and creating shadows.

“Is there something wrong with this Dave?” She asks. Her eyes wide in fake innocence.

“Yeah bro, if you simply say what’s bothering you, we can help.” Gamzee receives a wink from Rose. He does his best not to let his shoulders quake with the laughter gradually bubbling up within him.

“No, I’m not going to walk into this one. Stop it you two.” Judging by the broken tone to his voice, Dave’s normal impenetrable cool-kid façade is lost.

“I don’t see the problem, I’m just sketching your sis. She’s got quite the figure, if you don’t mind me saying, Rosie.” Gamzee offers, smiling over to the pale blonde girl, reclining on the couch. She smiles, head still looking over her shoulder.

“Why thank you Gamz, that is most flattering of you.” Her plump lips stretch into a wide smile.

Dave is thrown back by this, stammering at this revelation.

“Rosie? Gamz? I left you two for what was it? Four hours? And you were probably asleep for most of that, weren’t you, Gamzee?” His voice goes from the previous light-hearted to more stressed. Dave walks into the kitchen and pulls a beer out of the fridge.

“Isn’t it a bit early for that, brother dearest?” Rose calls from her position on the couch, not wanting to move too much, saving her brother from seeing her bare chest.

“You drive me to this Rose, god knows you do?” Playfulness works its way into Dave’s voice once more. Rose visibly relaxes.

Dave pulls out two more bottles from the fridge. Gamzee gives Rose a nod and she pulls her shirt off the floor, bunching it over her chest and walking off into the bathroom. Dave flops down on the recently vacated couch, offering one of the bottles in exchange for the sketch pad. Gamzee takes him up on this offer, knocking back a mouthful of the crisp, amber liquid.

“I can’t believe it man, why did you have to do that?” Dave muses. Gamzee can’t help but chuckle.

“She was perfect, I couldn’t resist.”

Dave pulls his feet up so Rose, now fully clothed, can walk past, taking her own seat next to him on the couch. She picks up the last beer. The way they sit, out there feet up, cradle the glass bottles, place their lips around the neck, they couldn’t be anything but twins.

“Dave?  I have a figure for drawing, do I not?” She queries casually, smirking with half-lidded eyes. She has him trapped now.

“Of course Rose, you’re a babe. Don’t let no-one tell you otherwise.” Dave spurts out, knuckles white as he grips the bottle. He doesn’t like where it is going, but there is no escape. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

“If that’s the case, why have you never asked to draw me like one of your French girls before?” At his face palm, both Gamzee and Rose descend into unattractive laughter.

Dave joins in eventually.


	4. Speak To Me/ Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay with this chapter guys.  
> It's been a few busy months, you know with an attempt at NaNoWriMo and working two retail jobs over the holiday season.  
> Lucky for you lot that my New Years resolution was to be better with regular updates.  
> I have a few more things in the works for you as well, so please, feel free to check out my other stuff.  
> Cheers.

Suddenly it wasn’t just Gamzee anymore.

The afternoons after class was spent sprawled out on the couch, sketchbook in hand while Rose hung in the most uncomfortable looking positions from the chair, nose pressed to the pages. She still managed to match Dave word for word while doing this, which was no small feat. Dave was either messing about in the kitchen committing crimes against food, perched on the coffee table that had seen better days, invested in whatever button mashing game he was playing with the same way Rose was with her books, or god forbid it, he flopped on the stained carpet, text books scattered about and furiously illustrating in his margins. On occasion, in those few weeks that it took to reach this level of casual being, Kurloz would drop by, and he slid into the shared routine with little to no resistance.

Gamzee Makara was content with this change in his live. He had forgotten how much he craved spending time with others. How much he cherished laughing and eating and conversing with another living, breathing, person outside of family. Since Tavros and Karkat he had avoided all situations that could have led up to a scenario such as this due to fear. Fear that by doing so, he’d be cheating on his once friends. By interacting in this pseudo intimate way he’d be spitting in the face of all the times, the good and the bad, that they had shared. He had been so afraid of change, so afraid of exposing himself, so afraid of having to cut ties all over again, that he had unwillingly isolated himself.

He still missed them though. Not a day passed without his thoughts drifting to them. Unanswered questions buzzed into awareness when he woke each morning and refused to let up when he took his pills and went to sleep.

The current routine was comfortable, though as with anything these days, was subject to change.

Rose’s ‘boyfriend’ being one of them.

 

When Gamzee had first met Eridan, of the Ampora resorts and hotels, they had both been little over five. It had been at one of the many social gatherings that parents such as theirs dragged them off to as mere accessories. A mutual understanding and friendship had been struck up for these occasions. As the years progressed, the run ins became less and less frequent, things changed, people moved on, yet whenever the two met, it was like the time between was irrelevant.

                Rose had dragged Gamzee out of the apartment on the grounds that ‘in order to maintain a healthy relationship, as the one he had with that ugly as couch, then time apart was necessary’. The undertone of the fact she wanted to show off her new boy toy, which just so happened to be currently working at the hole in the wall coffee shop, was just serendipity at its finest.

                He let that girl get away with so much, to which she was all too aware of. Her dark lips curled up in that little way she does when she knows she’s the puppet master.

                “Should I be offended that you show up to my work toting around a tall, dark, and handsome man, or is this going to turn into a proposition to spice things up?” He leans over the counter and places a peck on both of her cheeks before turning to the register.

                “Black, no sugars, and a toasted banana bread, same as usual Rose. What do you want, Gam? Whatever it is, it’s on my dearest, darling flower here, isn’t that right?” he laughs

                Gamzee is of course nervous being treated this casually. Surely Eridan knows what had happened. Him and Karkat had been close, at least when it came to gossip. Plus it wasn’t like the incident was small. If anything, Gamzee was more surprised that nobody gave him wide berth or looked at him with a mix of fear and disgust.

                “Just double my order hun, you’re scaring the poor boy,” Rose coos, wrapping her arm around Gamzee’s own. Her tone said condescending but her actions betrayed concern and reassurance.

                “Well, that will be fifteen sixty three, take your number and I’ll bring you your order personally.” Eridan smiles and waggles his eyebrows at the other two. Combo-ed with his over-sized glasses, he looked absolutely comedic, though it was unknown by his audience if he was trying to be funny or sincere. They smiled and headed off to their table. Eridan’s mutterings about how no one swooned over him these days could be heard over the dim chatter as Rose lead Gamzee to a corner booth.

                “So,” She cups her chin, dark lined eyes betraying amusement.

                “So?”

                “How do you know my darling beau? I’m ever so curious.”

                He fiddles with the hem of his over stretched shirt. Maybe he should’ve dressed nicer, rather than just meeting up in what he had been wearing when he got the text. He knew he was out of place, everyone did. The stares were all directed at him, isolating him, placing face to stories. Why did he come out?

                He can tell she’s waiting for a response, watching with patient eyes.

                Now he remembered. That girl could get away with murder when it came to him.

                “We go way back, parents ‘n’ everything. We keep on running into each other, but it’s cool, he’s a chill bro. What about you, my wicked sis? How do you know my little fish finger?”

                She laughs as a disgruntled barista saunters over.

                “Better not be unveiling anything discriminating about my person, Gam. That would be a major dick move on your part.”

                Rose rolls her eyes playfully, pulling her slice of toasted banana bread over. With sharp, calculated strokes she spreads butter over it. It smells heavenly.

                “Not in the slightest, bro. I got your back, bros before hoes, remember?”

                “Boys, why you have to take one step forwards then two steps back, so counter-productive. If I’m anything, it’s a prostitute. A hoe makes it sound like I give it for free.” She says this while pointing a froth covered spoon at the both of them.

                “You’re the fanciest prostitute out there, sis.”

                “What Gam preaches is true, takes me weeks to save up for your tips.”

                “As long as we have that established.”

 

                “So are you and Eridan, like, a thing?”

                The once steady stream of students walking around the campus had slowed to a trickle, indicating that it was a good a time as any to head back to the dorms.

                “What lead you to that particular conclusion, if I may so ask?”

                Rose’s arms are wrapped around her middle. Gamzee goes to shrug off a sweater he isn’t wearing. To substitute this, he pulls her to his side, arm secured around her shoulders. They both slow down to match paces.

                “Well my boy was all up in the smiles, positively glowing. Same could be said to you, Rosie. You two are the cutie patooties.”

                Her eyes crinkle in that little way she does when she’s trying her best not to laugh.

                “He’s a babe isn’t he? And that ass. That ass! Like a baby pumpkin in those pants.”

                “No homo, but yes. How does he even get into those things, not that I’m complaining, end no homo.”

                Comfortably, they walk on in the cool winds of the early evening.

 

                When Gamzee gets back to his dorm after walking Rose back to her own, it’s well past dark. He couldn’t help that he got distracted. The tree branches, silhouetted by the near full moon. How they swayed in the breeze that was making itself known. It was absolutely enchanting.

                Opening the door and walking in to a sleeping apartment, well, that was different. By sleeping, it was due to the fact that no electronics appeared to be on. No dim light bulbs, no flickering television. It was quiet. Too quiet.

                It was an odd occasion that the sound of Dave, doing one thing or another didn’t hang over the place like a warm blanket, but it did happen.

                Walking to his room, after his pit stop to the bathroom to take off his concealer, Gamzee realised he should have probably remembered to take his phone with him. He had a few messages waiting for him.

                Going straight form the main screen, not even taking a minute to stare at the background image that had been set in better time, he started composing an explanation to ease Kurloz’s already frayed nerves.

                He loved his brother, God knows he does, but sometimes… overbearing would be the best word that Gamzee could come up with, though good intentions came close. Kurloz cared too much, always had and probably always will. The burdens of being a younger brother, having to be on the receiving end of the mother henning.

                His suspicions on Dave being out were also confirmed, specifically at John’s dorm.

                Gamzee’s knowledge of John was fairly standard. He was Dave’s best bro, and has been since they met online at the age of ten. He apparently had a massive man crush on Matthew McConaughey and owned every Nic Cage movie to date. Dave was very fond of him and most conversations came back to something John had done, or said.

                If Gamzee could, he’d return these little snippets of life that his roommate shared with his own. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that to Tavros or Karkat. They didn’t need their names to be dragged through the mud anymore. It was for the best that all ties to the psycho were severed, as painful as it may be.

                Dave had invited him over to the movie night at John’s, a weekly occurrence. He felt that Gamzee would enjoy getting out and meeting the Derp, as Dave took to calling his best friend. That and apparently John’s roommate was a riot to stir up. Most of this was said between words, as Dave was so fond of doing. Luckily for Gamzee, he’d picked up on the ability to decipher Dave’s bullshit within a few days of living together.

                He declined the invitation of course. As great as going out with Rose and seeing Eridan again had been, it had done nothing but raise Gamzee’s anxieties.

                He needed some alone time.

                So Gamzee sat in the dark with only the moonlight to reveal the room’s contents.

                He’d never quite got around to cleaning the place up like he had promised himself all those weeks ago. It was a small wonder he hadn’t broken anything in his quest to get in and out of the room at this stage. Well, to be honest, it was more or less organised. One corner had been vacated to make room for several canvases, all propped up against an occupied easel. The painted canvas resting on top was his first assignment for one of his art units.

                A self-portrait interpretation of your inner self.

                Looking at the sinisterly mirthful eyes, mocking him from another plane, was like looking into a mirror. Or at least, that’s what Gamzee seemed to believe.

                Reaching into his bedside table, he found his anchor to reality, chucked back two dry and let slumber whisk him away in its pseudo warm embrace.

                His phone beeped, announcing incoming messages that would not be acknowledged until the morning.

 

                Gamzee woke up to find himself drenched in a cold sweat. Despite not remembering what had jolted him awake exactly, the cold, cruel laughter still followed him out. The cool light filtering through his un-shaded window told him that it was the early hours of the morning. Despite the many hours he had left before class started, sleep was something that he wasn’t ready to go back to.

                He pulled himself out of the warm tangle of blankets and sheets, and waded through the obstacle course littering his floor.

                Gamzee hesitated, standing at the bathroom sink, his hair still dripping from his morning shower. Before him sat an innocent tube of concealer. His mask, his safety harness. As long as he wore it then he could pass as being human, not segregated like he would be if his true identity as a monster was revealed to them.

                In an act, equal parts defiance and apathy, he didn’t apply it. Gamzee chose to instead to wear them as a badge of shame, a reminder to why he deserved no kindness. Maybe if he stopped hiding them, Dave and Rose, and even Eridan, will see him for the monster he truly was and evade him and all the misfortune that comes with the shackle known as Gamzee Makara.

                To be honest, he didn’t really know what he wanted anymore.

                Dave came back about an hour or so before his first class started. He was met with the sight of the gangly teen perched on the edge of the couch, staring at nothing.

                “You okay?” Dave asked, his head already stuck neck deep in the fridge. A stock up was just about due.

                Gamzee remained motionless, shoulders curled, almost meeting his jaw. He refused to reveal his unmasked face just yet. Scared of what his room-mate, his new friend, would think of him now.

                Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

                His breaths started to become fast and short.

                Dave’s hand rested on his shoulder, clenching down hard enough to comfort the boney frame shaking beneath.

                “Gamzee, breath,”

                In.

                Hold it.

                Out.

                Rinse, lather and repeat.

                “Are you going to be alright, man?” Concern dripped from Dave’s question. Despite the façade he upheld about himself being the coolest thing since Vanilla Ice, he dropped it around those he was close to. Especially in situations such as this.

                Gamzee nodded over excessively.

                “I’m fine, bro. Peachy. Just getting my freak on ‘bout an assignment, you know what I’m saying?” speech was too hurried to be anything about what he was preaching. Dave put enough faith in him to allow Gamzee some freedom though. Dave wasn’t his mother after all.

                “Whatever you say, as long as you aren’t going to flip the fuck out. You gonna be good for the day?” They both chuckled the previous scene off, both uncomfortable with what was not being said about it.

                “I’m as calm as a cucumber. Gotta get my shit ready though, class ‘n’ all.”

                “Fuck man, we’re going to be late at this rate. Let’s get this party in motion” Dave pulled the taller boy off the couch, only then seeing Gamzee’s pale face, scars and all.

                Three white, diagonal lines stretched across his face from his forehead, across his nose and down to the opposite cheek. They were fine lines that would in time fade away to ghosts, but for now they were fresh enough to be easily spotted without any cover.

                After a brief moment of hesitation, Dave pushed Gamzee towards his respective room.

                “Come on, we don’t have time to dilly dally. I don’t know about you, but I still need to grab a coffee before class, you dig?”

                The majority of the previous tension Gamzee had harboured just seemed to melt of him. His lazy smile slowly tugged on the corners of his thin lips.

                “Sure thing. Could use a motherfucking cup myself.”

                Maybe things could turn out alright after all.


End file.
